


I Hope This Song I'm Singing Finds You

by xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Second Chances, Secret Santa, Shirbert, The Shirbert Circle, famous au, famous au but Anne is the famous one for a change, no beta (we die like men)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx/pseuds/xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx
Summary: Anne’s a famous musician who gained notoriety thanks to her breakout hit, ‘Wherever You May Be’— a song she wrote about one, Gilbert Blythe, who might just be the only person on the planet who hasn’t ever heard the song in question.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83
Collections: The Shirbert Circle





	I Hope This Song I'm Singing Finds You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [botanyclub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanyclub/gifts).



> Hey all! We’ve got a little secret santa fic exchange going on over at the storybook club. 
> 
> I wrote this for my lovely friend Cindy (aka the QUEEN of the famous AUs!)— Cindy, I adore you to pieces and I as much as I have loved admiring your writing from afar, one of my favorite parts about 2020 has been getting to know you better. I’m so grateful that I get to call you a friend! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy part 1 of this fic, which I (very loosely) based off of your prompt asking for something centered around the ‘Never Been Kissed’ quote: "And there's still that one guy, the one who is so perfect in every way. The guy you get up and go to school for in the morning. [Avonlea] would not have been  
> the same without him. High school would not be the same without him. I would not have been the same without him."
> 
> (I also loosely based this off of Reeves and Elise’s story arc from the movie, ’10 Years’) — ENJOY!!

“Are you _sure_ you don’t just want to make chocolate chip cookies instead tonight? It’s a bit too too early for gingerbread houses, don’t you think?” Gilbert says into the phone pressed to his ear as he rushes into Avonlea Market.

He steps to one side, shaking the last dregs of melted snowflakes off of his red plaid coat, wiping his feet on the carpet just inside of the small grocery store’s entrance, trying his best to contain a laugh as his niece gives him an earful on the other end of the line.

“I already _told_ you, Uncle Gilby— I have to practice if I want to win first place in the class gingerbread house contest this year!”

He can’t see her, but it’s far too easy for Gilbert to picture the way he’s certain Delphine must be pouting back home while he goads her for his own amusement.

“Well, if it’s a first place ribbon that’s at stake, then I’d better make sure I bring back only the best supplies,” Gilbert says seriously as he makes his way through the store and toward the candy aisle.

“We need lollipops, and gumdrops, and licorice, and candy canes, and Hershey’s kisses, and…” Delly rattles off excitedly. “And don’t forget the food coloring so we can make different colored icings!”

“I won’t,” Gilbert promises through a chuckle, already filling his arms with the sweets his young charge had requested.

“Thanks Uncle Gilby— I love you the most!”

Gilbert can hear Bash’s distant cry of _“What about me?!”_ In the background, followed by the sound of footsteps getting closer.

“I love you _and_ daddy the most!” Delly amends through a giggle.

“You almost home, Blythe?” Bash asks.

“Mmhmm,” Gilbert responds, cradling the cellphone between his ear and shoulder so he can reach up and grab a packet of red licorice vines. “I’m already at the market so I should be home in no time.”

“That’s good— it’s supposed to start snowing, so the sooner the better,” Bash replies. “We’ll see you in a bit then.”

“And don’t forget the food coloring!” Delly shouts.

“Food coloring— on it,” he promises. “See you both soon.”

He hangs up the phone, shoving it back into his pocket, repositioning the bags of candy he’d plucked from the shelves at Delly’s request.

“Guess I should have brought a basket,” Gilbert mutters to himself as he sets off to search for the last item on his list.

Avonlea Market is empty save for the sleepy cashier he saw when he first ducked in. The only noises that accompany him on his journey up and down the aisles are the sharp squeak his boots make whenever he scuffs a sole against the dull linoleum flooring, and the faint sound of Wham!’s “Last Christmas” floating through the concealed speakers. He’s familiar with the classic Christmas tune, but he’s never heard a rendition quite like this before.

It’s not until Gilbert rounds the corner toward the last aisle that he realizes the soft and dreamy vocals aren’t coming from a speaker at all, but from a redheaded woman who seems to be deliberating over whatever it is she’s staring at on the shelf before her.

It’s been eight years, but no amount of passing time could have made Gilbert forget the fiery hue of the hair that hangs in loose waves down her back, or the curve of her profile, or the hundreds of freckles scattered across the creamy complexion of her face— like unmapped constellations he's always longed to trace with his fingertips.

He takes a step forward, and another, and another, as though needing to be absolutely sure that she’s actually there, standing in the aisle of Avonlea’s one and only grocery store-- and not just an achingly beautiful figment of his imagination.

“ _Anne?_ ”

He catches the barest hint of a polite smile spreading across her lips before her eyes snap over to meet his, familiarity coloring over the blue of her irises when she takes in the sight of him.

“Gilbert?” she utters in surprise, the curve of her smile broadening into a toothy grin. “Oh my god. It’s really you, isn’t it?”

“It’s really me,” Gilbert laughs lightly, drawing closer. “It’s been a long time.”

“Right— not since graduation,” Anne offers up. “I’d give you a hug, but well, it looks as if you’ve got your hands full. Popping in for a midnight snack, then?”

“Huh?” Gilbert answers, bemused for a moment until Anne gestures toward the candy haul in his arms. “Oh! Right! It’s for Delphine— well, not to eat. Bash says I spoil her, but even I wouldn’t ever give her this much candy all in one sitting.”

Anne giggles in response and the sound is so beautiful, it damn near takes his breath away.

“We’re making gingerbread houses— Delly’s got it in her head that she’s got to practice if she wants to win this year’s gingerbread house making competition at school.”

“Well, best not forget to pick up the food coloring then,” Anne adds, plucking a box from the shelf in front of her and depositing it on top of his pile of sweets. “Colored icing offers up much more scope for the imagination when it comes to decorating gingerbread houses.”

“I think Delly would agree with you there,” Gilbert says through a smile. “So…what brings you in to town?”

“Birthday party for Diana’s youngest— they forgot the candles, so I told her I’d pick some up before making my way over there,”she turns back to the shelf, grabbing two candles before she holds them up for Gilbert to inspect. “Which do you think a soon-to-be two-year-old would like best?”

“Well, if she’s anything like Delly, that glittery one in your right hand is sure to be a big hit.”

“I think you’re right,” Anne nods, putting the other candle back on the shelf.

They walk in silence up to the register together, with Anne nudging him forward once they reach the front.

“Go on,” she says through a soft smile. “Before you drop any of your precious cargo— can’t have those lollipops shattering before they reach Princess Delphine.”

The surly teenager up at the front hardly utters a word as he makes quick work of ringing Gilbert’s items up, tossing them haphazardly in a brown paper bag. He stands awkwardly to one side, waiting for Anne to pay for her birthday candle, noting that the cashier visibly brightens at the sight of her.

“My boyfriend's going to be so jealous when I tell him I met you,” he says excitedly. “He loves your song ‘Wherever You May Be.’ Do you think maybe you could…?”

He pulls a slip of paper out along with a sharpie, gesturing shyly to both.

“Of course!” Anne says readily, asking for the boy's name.

She takes her time, writing a little message about how she’s sorry they missed each other but hopes that their paths cross one day, before signing her name in loopy cursive at the bottom.

“Does that happen often?” Gilbert asks once they’re both outside.

“More so now than in the beginning,” she says, turning to face him fully. “But I’m still not used to it— being recognized, singing things— I’m not sure I ever will be.”

“Are you in town for long?”

“No— it’s a miracle I was able to get away at all,” Anne says through a wry smile. “Work keeps me pretty busy these days. You?”

“Same.”

An awkward silence drapes over them and Gilbert kicks himself for not responding with something that might have allowed him to extend the conversation a bit longer.

“That’s too bad,” Anne says finally. “I wish we had more time…you know, to maybe catch up properly.”

“Yeah, me too,” he whispers. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“Oh, thanks, but no— I walked here,” Anne says. “Diana thinks I’m crazy, but I just couldn’t resist getting a healthy dose of that good old Avonlea winter air.”

“How about I walk you part way then?” Gilbert finds himself offering suddenly. “We’re going in the same direction— we can catch up on the way.”

Anne studies him thoughtfully for a moment, and Gilbert tries his best to keep his breathing steady while she looks her fill.

“Well, alright then,” Anne says finally. “As long as you don’t mind walking through town— I hardly ever get back home anymore, so I feel like I’ve got to look my fill whenever I do.”

"That's understandable," he replies, letting her lead the way across the parking lot and over to the main street.

At Anne's request, Gilbert fills her in on going to medical school out in Toronto, congratulating him later when he tells her about how he ended up making it out to the Sorbonne on a study abroad semester after all. In turn, Anne rewards him with tales of her own. He clings to her every word as she tells him about moving to New York after graduation, and then later, after Marilla passed away, out to Los Angeles where she'd finally scored a record deal.

Gilbert had (admittedly) only distantly heard that Anne had been doing quite well for herself as a recording artist. There were a few in Avonlea who'd been surprised to hear she'd broken into the music industry, but to Gilbert, it had just made sense. He could hardly recount a day when Anne was without the bright yellow ukulele Matthew had gotten her for her thirteenth birthday, and he’d always known she'd end up a writer of some form or another. He doesn't have to ask Anne about the song that ended up giving her the big break she'd needed because they find themselves getting stopped every so often by strangers milling about town who are all too eager to talk to her about the same song the cashier had named back at the market.

Gilbert doesn’t have much experience with celebrities, but he thinks that Anne is the perfect embodiment of what someone with such notoriety should be. She’s gracious and kind, and he marvels over the way it seems as if Anne knows exactly what to say to put whoever stops her to ask for a photo or an autograph at ease.

"I don't think I've ever gotten more compliments on this old coat than I have tonight," Gilbert laughs after the third person who’d stopped Anne had made it a point to comment on his outerwear. "Are red plaid jackets back in fashion or something?"

"No idea," Anne replies in amusement. "I can't believe you still have this thing by the way. You must have worn it every day back in school-- I'm surprised it's not falling apart at the seams."

"It was my dad's," he replies quietly. "He always used to say that they don't make clothes as sturdy as they used to these days. I guess he was right."

"It's nice though, that you still have something of his. It’s like he's still keeping you warm even now that he's gone,” Anne says gently. She shakes her head suddenly before she adds, “Sorry. I don’t really know what I meant by that. There’s just something about being home that makes me even more melancholy than I usually am.”

“Don’t be sorry— that’s a lovely way to look at it," he murmurs.

“It _does_ feel good to be back though,” Anne muses, tilting her gaze up to the twinkling lights adorning the bare branches of trees that line the streets. “Sometimes I worry Avonlea will lose its magic. Likethe next time I come back I’ll be too different, or it’ll be to different, and it just won’t feel like home…”

He’s so caught up on watching her, it takes a moment to register that she’s trained her wide eyes on him expectantly as though waiting for him to weigh in.

“It’s funny isn’t it?” Gilbert says finally. “How you spend all this time when you’re a teenager feeling like you’ve outgrown it all, only to spend the rest of your life worrying that maybe someday Avonlea will outgrow you. I feel like every time I come back, something’s changed. It’s hard to keep up.”

“Still though, it’s nice that some things stay the same,” Anne says before she hops up onto the rail of the white wooden fence that runs along the perimeter of the church. “Marilla used to hate it when she’d catch me trying to balance on this thing. Kept going on about how I was going to fall and break a limb one day.”

“For the record,” Anne adds, glancing down at him from where she’s balancing up above. “I’ve _never_ fallen.”

He’s struck by the vision of her, arms outstretched, carefully planting one foot in front of the other as she walks along the thin railing with ease. And suddenly, Gilbert can see the Anne of his past clear as day, teetering on the same fence after Sunday service, haloed by the morning sun, red braids billowing in the wind like twin ropes of fire. Anne’s always been a little bit graceful despite all of her sharp edges, floating through life with a whimsical air that often left him feeling a little bit breathless. And there’s something about seeing the shadow of her childhood manifest itself in something as simple as walking along the old church railing that warms him to the core.

When she reaches the end of the fence, Gilbert holds a hand out to help her on the dismount. Her hand is warm in his despite the chill of the winter night, and he shivers at the familiar feel of her calloused fingertips sliding along his open palm before she grasps his hand and hops down with ease.

Gilbert’s only ever held Anne’s hand one other time before, but the memory of the moment has etched itself into his head and his heart in a way that’s made it impossible for him to forget it.

“Your hand still feels the same.” The sentiment slips from between his lips before he can stop it, and he feels his face flush in embarrassment in response to the way Anne’s eyebrows shoot up at the confession.

He stumbles over his words, floundering as he tries to backtrack. In the end, it’s Anne who puts him out of his misery with a soft smile and a string of words that make his heart flutter furiously away behind his ribcage.   
  
“I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Anne whispers.

“Why wouldn’t you think so?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles bashfully. “Sometimes, I think it’s easy to convince yourself that a moment means more to you than it does to someone else.”

A far off look colors over her eyes and Gilbert doesn’t need to ask to know what she’s thinking about because he’s thinking about it too. Thinking about how they’d spent months quietly studying next to each other at the library, after coming to the conclusion that it would be easier to just share the books they needed between them instead of fighting over who’d get first dibs. Thinking of how after he’d heard the news about Matthew and how he’d passed so close to the end of the school year, he was sure Anne wouldn’t come back. He remembers the way he’d rounded the corner toward the back of the library and stood frozen on the spot at the sight of Anne hunched over a pile of books. But most of all, he thinks about how it wasn’t until he’d drawn closer, moving in slow so as not to startle her, that he’d been able to spy the way the pages of the book she’d had open in front of her had turned rippled, and warped, and tear stained. He remembers how there was so much he’d wished he could have said. How he had wished he would have been able to find the right words to explain that he understood the pain of losing a parent all too well. He remembers how none of the words flooding his mind had seemed quite right. How before he’d had a chance to think better of it, or second guess the notion, he’d slipped into the chair next to hers and taken her hand in his. He remembers bracing for a moment he was sure would soon come. How he’d expected Anne to snatch her hand away, or smack him with a spare textbook for daring to presume she’d want any semblance of comfort he was trying to provide— for being bold enough to assume they were familiar enough with each other for him to try and comfort her at all. But most of all, he remembers the way he’d let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding when she’d simply squeezed his hand in return before slowly coming to rest her head on his shoulder.

“That day at the library— I don’t think I ever thanked you,” Anne says quietly.

“You didn’t have to— you _don’t_ have to now,” he starts.

“But I _do_ — I am,” Anne insists. “I wish I could have told you then how much it meant to me, but I don’t think I knew how to put it into words.”

“You know, that day after we finally packed up and left…I thought for sure you wouldn’t come back to school. It was so close to the end of the year, and nobody would have blamed you if you’d just decided to finish up the year remotely.”

“I almost didn’t,” she confesses quietly. “I thought about finishing up on my own, and convincing Marilla that it would just be easier to homeschool myself so I could help out around the farm in between course work. For a minute there, I convinced myself that that’s why I wanted to stay home. But I think deep down, I knew the truth was that I wanted to stay home because I was so sick and tired of seeing the way everyone else kept looking at me like they were just waiting for me to break.”

“Well, you’ve always been a little bit stubborn,” Gilbert says through a good natured laugh in an effort to lighten the mood. “Is that why you stayed? To show them all you’ve always been stronger than they’ve given you credit for?”

A silence falls over them and Gilbert watches Anne chew on her bottom lip in deliberation. The nervous action only makes him all the more curious to know the answer to the question he’s just asked her. And just when he thinks she won’t humor him a proper response, Anne surprises him yet again.

She shakes her head slowly, her words coming out slow and even as though Anne’s taking every effort to ensure the weight of what she’s saying sinks in. “I didn’t have it in me to keep caring about what everyone else thought after Matthew died. But In the end? _You’re_ the only reason I kept going back.”

“ _Me_? But…we hardly spoke after— after…” he stutters.

“We didn’t have to. It was enough for me just to know you were there,” she says gently, squeezing his hand again. “Honestly? For a while there it sort of felt like I was only getting up out of bed and going to school in the morning for _you_.”

“Why me?” Gilbert asks in wonder, his brain still trying to process what she’s saying as his heart hammers away in his chest.

“Because, Gilbert. You were the only person who never looked at me like you were waiting for me to crumble, or like I was someone to be pitied. You’ve never looked at me that way. Not when the Cuthberts first adopted me, and certainly not after Matthew died. You only ever looked at me like someone you felt sorry for because you understood the pain I was feeling— and that’s the difference.”

“ _Anne_ …”

“Excuse me!”

An unfamiliar voice cutting through their quiet moment finds Gilbert springing back. He hadn’t even realized they’d been standing so close to begin with, or perhaps he’d been subconsciously inching closer as Anne had been speaking. She offers him a small smile before she turns away from him to face the stranger whose approached them.

“Sorry, it’s just we recognized you by the hair— it’s so much prettier in person!” Says a woman who can’t be much older than they are.

“Thank you,” Anne says sincerely. “I’m Anne, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, we know!” The woman says excitedly, tugging on the arm of a man who’s standing just behind her. “‘Wherever You May Be’ is like, the best song ever— we danced to it at our wedding!”

“I’m honored that you loved it enough to use it on such a momentous occasion,” Anne says through a smile. “Would you like a picture?”

The woman squeaks out an excited _“yes!”_ fumbling as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. Gilbert offers to take the photo for them and she gratefully agrees.

They wait for the couple to head out before continuing on their walk, heading up to the old depot on town square.

“It must be nice,” Gilbert starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as the wind picks up. “To know you’ve written something that’s moved so many people.”

Anne hums in agreement. Eyes flittering up to his before she speaks again. “On a much pettier note, the fact that I get asked about ‘Wherever You May Be’ more than any other song makes me feel especially vindicated. Did you know that the record label never even wanted me to record it in the first place?”

“They didn’t?”

“Nope,” Anne says with a shake of her head. “We were one track short, and I only had one day left in the studio. The label wanted something a bit more anthemic with a bigger sound, and I had the nerve to show up with this stripped back ballad.”

“So what convinced them to let you put it on the album?”

“I promised them that if the song was a flop, I’d never push for anything else ever again.”

“You believed in it that much?”

“I think it was less about believing the song was going to be a hit, and more about the fact that laying down the track, and making sure it made the album, felt like something that I _needed_ to do,” Anne muses.

“Well, joke’s on them I guess because ‘Wherever You May Be’ ‘is like, the best song ever,’” Gilbert adds, quoting the last person who’d stopped them to tell Anne as much.

She stops dead in her tracks, forcing Gilbert to turn and look at her. Anne’s always been too observant for her own good— too good at reading others, or maybe it’s just that she’s always been far too good at reading _him_. Either way, Gilbert realizes his mistake as soon as his eyes settle on her face.

“ _Is it_?” Anne asks, brows pinching together as she analyzes his face. “Do _you_ think it is?”

“I’m sure it is…?” He offers up through a sheepish grin, wishing suddenly that he were better at lying.

A long pause settles between them in which Gilbert wishes a hole would open up in the ground under his feet and swallow him whole.

“You’ve never heard the song have you?” she’s still smiling but the expression has lost some of its shine, and for some reason that just makes Gilbert all the more guilty.

“You know what? I’m sure I have— I’m sure if I heard it I’d know it,” he offers up in an attempt to smooth things over. He keeps going when Anne stay silent, hoping that launching into a long-winded explanation might wipe that unreadable expression off of her face and replace it with one that will make him feel less like an idiot.

“The thing is, I work long hours at the hospital? And even then, whenever I’m listening to anything, it’s usually just to talk radio or podcasts— it’s just that the constant chatter sort of helps keep me awake? Not that I think your music would put me to sleep! It’s just, you know, after a 15-hour shift, sometimes it feels like there’s not enough coffee in the world to keep me awake. But at least listening to strangers talk amongst themselves through my headphones gives my brain something to concentrate on, and—“

“Gilbert,” Anne says gently, shushing him with a warm hand on his forearm. “It’s okay— I’m not upset— I just…it’s been so long since I ran into someone who _hasn’t_ heard the song and, well, the fact that _you_ might be the last person on earth who hasn’t heard it is just…”

“Is just what?” Gilbert implores, desperately wanting Anne to finish whatever she’d been about to say.

“It’s nothing,” she says wistfully, eyes glossing over as she stares up at the twinkling lights once more. She cracks a smile when her eyes slide back over to his, and Gilbert’s heart does a summersault in his chest. “I’m just surprised Mrs. Lynde didn’t tie everyone in Avonlea down and force them to listen to it is all. Maybe all those hours you work at the hospital saved you from such a torture.”

He lets out a nervous laugh that feels far too loud for the moment they’re sharing.

"I guess I should also confess that the truth is, I was only vaguely aware of the fact that you're sort of fairly famous now."

"I love that.”

"You do?”

"Yes," Anne nods. "Because it means you're spending time with me because of _me_ , and not because of my music, or because you want something."

"Your music is a part of you, and it's part of what makes you, _you_ ," Gilbert says carefully. "But I hope you know that you'd _still_ be worth spending time with without it, Anne-girl."

"I would still like to hear that song though," he continues. "Maybe we can just listen to it now."

He's in the middle of reaching into the pocket of his red plaid jacket with the intent of loading up Spotify when Anne springs to life.

" _NO!_ " she shouts alarmingly.

"Do you not want me to listen to it?" Gilbert asks, confused.

" _No_. I mean, _I do_ , just...maybe not when I'm standing right next to you?" Anne frets. "It would just feel a little too weird to stand here and watch you listen to it for the first time. Just...wait until you get home, or until you hear it on the radio, or something."

Gilbert nods, thinking to himself that he should have guessed that despite being proud of her work, Anne wouldn't want to listen to her own music.

“Guess I’ll just have to come to one of your concerts— maybe hear you play it live?” Gilbert says instead.

“Yeah, maybe,” she replies noncommittally.

“When’s your next show?”

“Tomorrow night. I’m playing the tree lighting ceremony in Halifax— that’s sort of why I’m here,” Anne explains. “Well, that and also, I’m pretty sure Diana would have hunted me down and dragged me back to Avonlea herself if I missed another one of baby Anne’s milestones.”

“Baby Anne?” Gilbert asks.

“She named her after me— Anne Cordelia Barry Wright,” Anne says proudly. “Has a nice right to it, don’t you think?”

“I do,” he nods. “And if she grows up to be anything like her namesake, I’d wager to bet she’ll be taking the world by storm one day.”

“Do you want to come?” she blurts out suddenly, completely ignoring Gilbert’s attempt at a compliment. “To the tree lighting tomorrow out in Nova Scotia? The actual concert’s been sold out for weeks, but I could get you in if you wanted to come check it out— there’s a killer lineup this year.”

“That sounds like so much fun, but I fly back tomorrow morning— I have a shift at the hospital the day after next” he says sadly. “Do you ever stop in Toronto when you’re touring? Maybe I could come and see you then?”

A thrill courses through his veins at the mere thought of making future plans with the girl next to him. It terrifies Gilbert in all of the best ways when he comes to the silent realization that he wants to make plans with Anne, because making plans means that they won’t go another eight years without speaking to each other again.

An incessant buzzing from within Anne’s coat pocket stops her before she can respond.

“It’s Diana,” Anne says, as she fishes her phone out and glances at the glowing screen on her phone, “I’d better not keep her waiting much longer— can’t have a birthday cake without the candle.”

“Of course,” he nods.

“This was nice though,” Anne offers. “Thanks for the stroll down memory lane.”

“Any time,” he says, meaningfully.

She puts him out of his misery when she bounds forward and loops her arms around his neck. Anne is soft, and warm, and and she fits against him like she was made to do so. And Gilbert can’t help the way he squeezes her just a little bit tighter, breathing in the intoxicating scent of rose and vanilla that clings to her red hair.

He shivers, not at all because of the cold, when he feels her whisper, “Take care of yourself, Gil,” into the crook of his neck.

She slips out of his grasp much sooner than Gilbert would have liked, turning to walk swiftly down the road he knows leads to Diana’s home without another glance back toward him. And Gilbert watches her go until Anne’s retreating silhouette disappears into the darkness altogether.

**Author's Note:**

> When I started this secret santa fic for Cindy, I had absolutely no intentions of splitting it up— like, who in their right minds does that for a secret santa fic? But in the end, after talking it out with a friend, I came to the conclusion that it just makes sense to split this story into two parts, so I hope you all don’t mind that I went for it and opted to do that!
> 
> I am writing like the wind in an effort to get chapter 2 up asap so hopefully the wait won’t be too long! Either way, I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter but I ESPECIALLY hope Cindy enjoyed the first chapter!
> 
> Please keep an eye on the [Shirbert Circle collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/The_Shirbert_Circle/works) as that’s where all of the other storybook club secret santa fics will be posted to— and go and give the rest of my dear writer friends some love!
> 
> As always, thanks so much if you’re kind enough to leave comments and/or kudos on this fic— your comments always mean the world!
> 
> Also, extra special thank you to Rachel ([writergirl8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8)) for being the best sound board and letting me darken her DMs with all of my crazy ideas for this fic. And also to Jodie ([the_strangest_person](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_strangest_person/pseuds/the_strangest_person)) for being the best hype woman and talking through some last minute decisions with me!
> 
> In between updates you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElaWithAnE)!


End file.
